Chapter 10
Deliberations
When
all were seated, Zaknafein looked at the others carefully. Nalrann stared fixedly at what were
presumably his fingers under the table. He had two wands more than usual. N'aryo Oblodra, the oldest by far, looked the same as ever – oddly
serene, with the sensitive eyes of a telepath, always unarmed. Pael'ran avoided his eyes, fingers gripping
his staff until the knuckles were white. Larama'ln Branche of Fey Branche also had an inhospitable stare, as his
House was but one step below Do'Urden. He continuously rolled a blue wand around his fingers.
Nara'noth and
Kyar'noth Shobalar had had the strongest struggles becoming Masters, and their
twin faces had a look of weathered equality. Both also held staffs. Of all
the mages, their support was unknown. Ryankal Teken'duis had a nervous tic in his eye, and he also avoided
Zaknafein's eyes, playing with the inscription on his staff. Troth'an Mar'Kara also looked uneasy, and he
also stared fixedly at one of his wands.
Taranlal
Freth shot him a faint grin. He was a
relative and an ex-student, and he supported Zaknafein, as Zaknafein had been
slightly instrumental in getting him to become a Master. The medallion present from Zaknafein glowed
faintly. Raen'al K'ya'natra had the
same look of a coiled snake on his face, holding a stave, and Paren'kil
Nal'Fayan's face had his normal look of thinly veiled ambition. His belt was festooned with wands.
Nalrann
stood up from his seat, and all attention turned to him. "Today we are all gathered here to vote for
the new ArchMage, since the passing of the last."
Zaknafein
leant back in his chair, and Nalrann looked sharply at him, a look of fleeting
relief scooting across his face when he realized the mage hadn't done anything
magical.
"You
know the rules," Nalrann said, "But as tradition dictates, I must recite them
one more time." A snicker from the
Shobalars, quieted by a flat look from Nalrann.
"You
are all allowed to 'nominate' a mage if you want to. After three are nominated, the three mages will leave while the
remaining mages deliberate given a bit of paper. The first mage will be represented with 'one', the second 'two',
and the third 'three'. Write the number on the paper, and the paper would be
put inside a ballot box. The Mistress
of Arach-Tinilith and Melee-Magthere are already in Sorcere, and they will
count out the secret votes." He continued. The Mistresses were technically not allowed in the room until after the
votes were in the box.
Zaknafein
idly reflected about Melee-Magthere. Still having a Mistress as the head, but the school was thinking about
getting a Master instead, and secretly seeking Sorcere's support under the
pretense of more hostilities, such that the Masters of Melee-Magthere,
presumably going over to 'complain', could discuss strategies.
"We
begin," Nalrann said, sitting down.
Pael'ran
stood up, predictably, but Taranlal beat him to it. "I nominate Zaknafein Do'Urden," he said, shooting a smirk at
Pael'ran before sitting down with dignity.
Pael'ran
glared irritably at him. "I nominate
Nalrann Armgo."
There
was a long pause as the mages looked at each other. Then Larama'ln stood up lazily. "I nominate N'aryo Oblodra." Zaknafein sighed inwardly. The
mage did hate House Do'Urden enough to try and get another candidate of a
higher house.
Zaknafein
rose to his feet, nodding to Zaire who followed him out. Nalrann and N'aryo fell into step with him
as they walked out of the hall, closing the massive doors behind them, then
Zaknafein leant against the wall, hand still firmly on his staff.
N'aryo
immediately looked at Zaknafein, squinting.
"Is
there something on my face?" Zaknafein bantered. Nalrann studiously avoided him, turning his back on them to stare
at the door.
"Not
that I can see," N'aryo said calmly. "I
heard you used the sunburst spell?"
"Saw,
you mean?" Zaknafein grinned.
"Saw,"
N'aryo admitted. "You woke me up."
"Well,
I'm sorry," Zaknafein smiled.
"You
can repay it," N'aryo said serenely. Zaknafein raised an eyebrow.
"Teach it to me,"
N'aryo said.
Zaknafein shrugged,
eyeing Nalrann covertly. "Why not?" he
grinned, and winked at N'aryo. N'aryo
also looked at Nalrann, and smiled at Zaknafein.
"Why not indeed," he
said calmly.
"How are
your...filters?" N'aryo asked.
"The sunburst took a
bit of it," Zaknafein said seriously, "It's easier reaching for it now." Again, he glanced at Nalrann's back.
"Really," N'aryo
said. "Remember that destroying the
filter completely will be dangerous, Zaknafein."
"I know," Zaknafein
grinned. "Don't remember, if I go mad
this city will be the first to know about it."
Zaire gave up trying
to stare at Nalrann, and padded over to N'aryo, purring deeply as the mage
stooped to pet her.
"And how are you?" he
asked softly, "Has he been feeding you?"
"Of course I have,"
Zaknafein said, "If I hadn't, Pael'ran may not have survived this meeting."
N'aryo chuckled at
Nalrann's suddenly stiff back. "Indeed," he said delicately, "I saw him kick her when she was in his
way that time. Females never forget, do
they?"
"I doubt so,"
Zaknafein said dryly. "She also hasn't
forgotten you used to keep tidbits in your pockets, I see." Zaire was sniffing ecstatically at N'aryo's
robe.
"Bribing her," N'aryo
remarked dryly, reaching into his pocket and unearthing something that he
tossed to Zaire.
The cheetah caught it
neatly and swallowed, then licked the old mage's hand.
Zaknafein sighed, then
Zaire straightened, tail lashing. "What
is it, girl?"
She made a
half-whistle at him. "Oh. They knocked," said Zaknafein. That meant that the mages had finished their
deliberating and had knocked on the door where the Mistresses were.
"Fast," N'aryo
commented.
"I doubt so,"
Zaknafein said dryly, "I am so sure that everyone has been spending the time
since Gromph's untimely passage deliberating."
N'aryo smiled. "Perhaps so," he admitted, "I know I have
been...thinking."
Zaire purred at him
then cocked her head to the side, tail freezing.
"They've come out of
the door," Zak said, squaring his shoulders. "Well, a little bit longer, eh, Nalrann?"
Nalrann stiffened
again, but ignored him pointedly.
**
Doorknobs,
doorknobs, doorknobs...he was sick of doorknobs. Drizzt glumly polished the one in front of him and moved on. His eyes were only on the doorknobs now.
He
jumped when the next one twisted and opened under his grasp, to show a very
messy room. Briefly he considered
walking in to explore, and agonized with himself before looking at the ground
closely and noticing the traces of wards. And besides, he'd never known what had happened to the monster...
Quickly he closed the
door, and went to the next one. It also
opened under his grasp, to show a considerably neater room, though this one
with several weapons in the place of magic in the other one. Jarlaxle's room.
No
wards – Drizzt put a foot in, then yelped when a hand clapped on his
shoulder. Twisting, he saw the
wolfishly grinning face of the weapon master.
"My
room is private territory," Jarlaxle told him. "No touching, no entering." Actually there was a spare room in the weapons hall, but this place was
better in which he could regularly irritate his brother. The spare room was too close to the common
area below, which was noisy at times.
"Sorry,
Master Jarlaxle," Drizzt said contritely. The weapon master winked at him. "Maybe when you're older," he shrugged. "A few more years, Drizzt."
"To
what?" Drizzt demanded, but the weapon master grinned and pushed him out to the
corridor, then looked consideringly at the doorknobs. "Where did you start?" Jarlaxle asked.
"From
the balcony," Drizzt said.
Jarlaxle
looked down the corridor. "I calculate
six hundred twenty-five to do if you're working your way up."
Drizzt
looked crestfallen, and Jarlaxle grinned again. "Determination, page prince," he said grandly, "Count yourself
lucky you don't have to wipe the doors as well."
"You
had to?" Drizzt asked, his eyes shining again.
"Oh
yes," Jarlaxle said ruefully, "The ex-patron was a vicious mage who put wards
on his door when he realized we had to wipe and polish the doors and knobs."
**
The
door opened magically, and the three of them walked back in, followed by Zaire,
and took their seats. Many of the mages
avoided their eyes, studiously fiddling with their equipment.
The
two mistresses glanced at the three of them again. "N'aryo Oblodra is ArchMage," said the Mistress of Arach-Tinilith
slowly.
**
"You
don't have to buff it all the way," Jarlaxle explained patiently, "Lloth knows
they don't check."
"Oh,
but I must, Master Jarlaxle," Drizzt said earnestly, "It's not...honest
otherwise."
Jarlaxle
threw back his head and laughed. "You're drow, Drizzt! Honesty and drow do not come together."
"Truly?"
Drizzt asked, "Then why does Vierna punish me when...when..."
"That
is, you have to be honest to females, though Zaknafein often disobeys that
one," Jarlaxle said solemnly. "There
are only a few rules to drow, Drizzt. One, respect the females. Two,
worship and respect Lloth. Three,
respect those stronger than you but think of a way to bring them down. Four, Ambition be in your heart, as well as
unpredictability. Five, if you're to do
something you don't like, try to shirk."
"Six,
know always that Master Jarlaxle speaks a load of rubbish," Taralyn appeared,
glaring at Jarlaxle sternly. The weapon
master put on a contrite expression. "Forgive me, holy one," he said in a sepulchral voice, "I deserve death
for my rubbish."
"You
are crossing your fingers behind your back," Taralyn said severely. Drizzt bit down on his lip to push back down
on the laughter that threatened to spill out.
**
Zaknafein
blinked, feeling as if someone had hit him in the stomach and Nalrann half-rose
from his chair, mouth open in protest. The females ignored them.
If they chose you, Nalrann may have killed
them. If they chose Nalrann, you may
have killed them. If they chose someone
in between, since the both of you don't know who voted for whom, they get a
respite. Zaire told him
reasonably. The cheetah was getting to
understand this.
"Do
you accept this honor, N'aryo Oblodra?" the other Mistress asked formally.
N'aryo
stood up slowly. "No," he said flatly,
drawing startled gasps from all present except for the Mistresses.
"Oh?"
asked the Mistress of Arach-Tinilith.
"I
am eight hundred years old," N'aryo said calmly, "And I know I will not live
long. Is it not better to have a
younger ArchMage such that all this deliberating business will not come again
for some time more, such that we do not trouble our busy Mistresses?"
"Will
you cast your vote, then?" the Mistress of Melee-Magthere asked
reluctantly. Zaknafein saw that she was
from House Barrison del'Armgo, which explained a bit. "There has been a rule that if an ArchMage refuses the post, he
may cast his own vote for any of the other two, and his vote decides."
Because
no ArchMage had ever refused willingly, and those who had had other motives, so
they needed the decisive vote, Zaknafein knew. In Sorcere's history, only three had refused before in favor of a higher
house for protection, and this rule had been added dubiously at the first one.
"Why
then," N'aryo smiled serenely, "I vote for Zaknafein Do'Urden."